


This Soldier Knows

by scrunchycolfer



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War II, M/M, M/M/M, Multi, OT3, Soldiers, Wartime Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 14:54:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6083907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrunchycolfer/pseuds/scrunchycolfer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newt runs into a little problem when he starts falling for his fellow soldiers, Thomas and Minho. It would be bad enough falling for another man, but falling for two? At once? It's made his life pretty hard. </p>
<p>But one night, walking home after their day off, he might discover that he isn't entirely alone in his feelings...</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Soldier Knows

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired after I listened to the song "Soldier", associated it with Thominewt, and made the following video (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sdHOSS2Qtf8).  
> It got me thinking about the boys as soldiers, and this AU was slowly born. Set vaguely during World War II, but could really apply to a few different time periods. I usually don't like to write Maze Runner AUs very much because I find it hard to capture the intensity of relationships created by situations like being in the Maze together. But soldiers fighting alongside each other could very much form similar bonds through their similarly high stakes. So I gave it a go, and I ended up loving it. Hope you enjoy as well!

Newt feels almost relieved as they step out onto the street; laughter, light, and music spilling from the bar behind them. The contrast makes him feel like he’s entered another world, finally allowed a moment to breathe away from the crush of the increasingly intoxicated crowd inside. He blinks up at the half moon above the crooked little town, the scruffy buildings on all sides dark, curtains closed, tucked in for the night. Steam rises from a grate further down the pavement, and a couple, her hand at the crook of his elbow, slip in through the open door behind them. But other than that, nothing moves at all.

He can hear Thomas still shrugging on his jacket, Minho loudly thanking the doorman, and so he tucks his hands into his pockets and waits in the pool of light provided by the open door, eyes fixed on the moon, inhaling crisp night air and trying not to be happy that they can finally go home.

And then the light cuts off behind him, music muted to the vague echo of brass, as the door slides closed.

Newt turns around and sees Thomas still fiddling with the last of his buttons. Minho, who’s finally finished his goodbyes and let the doorman shut them out, laughs and reaches over to help him. Though Thomas rolls his eyes, he doesn’t protest.

Newt looks away automatically, uncomfortable with the swoop in his stomach at the sight of the two of them standing so close.

_Damn shank,_ he chides himself internally, _Shouldn’t have been drinking._

He feels too vulnerable with Thomas and Minho around, and alcohol in his system. It’s not long before the jacket is all buttoned up, Minho giggling as Thomas gives him an exasperated “thanks”. They reach Newt’s side and he starts to walk rather quickly toward the alley that will lead them back to their camp. He almost jumps in surprise as Minho, still pretty tipsy from the alcohol he’s been downing all night, slings an arm across his shoulders.

“Well boys,” He says, a teasing edge to his voice. When Newt risks glancing across, he sees his other arm around Thomas, the boy shooting him an amused smile over their friend’s head. “No luck for the mightiest of the Glade Battalion tonight.”

Thomas laughs, a loud carefree sound he doesn’t bother to regulate, which means he’s probably still as drunk as Minho. Definitely more drunk than Newt, who counts his blessings that the two of them still seem fairly in control of their own wits, if a little uninhibited. He doesn’t know what he’d do if they got drunker, handsier, even more in his face.

“Are you kidding, Minho?” Thomas says, still chuckling. “You had _at least_ four girls perfectly keen on you.”

“They were gorgeous, weren’t they?” Minho says dreamily, looking pleased with himself.

“Uh, yeah, so why didn’t you go home with one of them?”

“Eh,” Minho shrugs, unconcerned, that adorable grin of his lighting up his face. “You guys didn’t have anyone to go with.”

“Thanks for rubbing _that_ in, shuckface.” Thomas snorts, using one of the insults they made up in the Battalion to avoid swearing in front of their strict commander.

Newt, however, is all too aware that Thomas _also_ had several admirers that night. It’s just that the oblivious idiot had ended up scaring them off because he never knew when to shut up about whatever interesting thing was whirring through his mind and actually hold a conversation with them.

“I just mean I couldn’t leave my best friends to walk home alone.” Minho clarifies, ruffling Thomas’ hair with the hand around his shoulder and laughing as he yells out in protest. “If you guys go home as losers, I do too!”

 “You know you could leave with someone if you wanted to.” Newt says quietly, embarrassed that his own problems might be interfering with Minho’s fun. “We wouldn’t mind.”

He’s lying, of course. He would mind more than anything. He can only imagine how awfully, dreadfully, overwhelmingly jealous he’d feel watching Minho walk off with someone else. Or Thomas for that matter.

Minho, completely unaware of what he’s thinking, laughs as uproariously as Thomas did earlier.

“So keen to get rid of me, Newt?”

“Who wouldn’t be, shuckface?” He scowls at his friend, though it isn’t all that convincing. “Can’t have your ugly mug hanging around all the time.”

Minho laughs again, and Thomas joins in.

“He’s right. We need a rest.” He teases, nudging Minho as they walk so that Newt has to steady himself to keep them upright.

“You shank!” Minho retorts, far too happily for it to count as an insult, shoving Thomas with his shoulder in return, yanking Newt sideways with the force of it.

Newt can’t help the small fond smile that crosses his lips. He reaches a hand up and rests it where Minho’s is clutching his shoulder. He tells himself that it’s just to keep them steady, as Thomas jostles them in return again. But he knows, deep down, that he’s lying to himself. He still feels hyperaware of the proximity of his two friends. He can smell the cologne they spritzed on before heading out, and the alcohol on their breath.

For a while there’s just the sound of scuffling feet on the pavement, until Thomas gives up his shoving and their miniature battle turns into plain laughter. When it dies down, they fall silent again. And then Thomas looks sideways at Newt.

“You know Newt, you never seem all that keen on meeting girls.” He says, as if it’s the most casual thing in the world to blurt out.

Instantly, Newt’s face floods with colour, and with everything in him he is thankful for the dimly lit street. His breath catches in his throat and he almost chokes on his own saliva. He can feel his heart hammering as he tries desperately to think of a response.

Minho’s face turns toward him as well, both boys too close. Newt can’t believe he’s still capable of putting one foot in front of the other.

“There’s no way you couldn’t get one if you tried.” Minho squeezes his shoulder, and he thinks he might die. Just pass out right there in the middle of the street. Because there’s no way he can tell them; _no way_ they can ever know.

“Never been much into bars I guess.” Newt mumbles. “Always wanted a- a girlfriend. Nothin’ casual.”

“Mm,” Thomas hums in agreement.

But both of them are still watching Newt. He can feel their gaze like a weight on his shoulders. For a panicked moment he thinks they can tell that he’s lying.

But when he risks another look at them, they’re staring at each other rather than at him.

“Having a girlfriend is nice.” Thomas continues, voice oddly slow, as if he’s thinking something over at the same time. “I miss it.”

Newt tries to get the beating of his heart to return to normal, glad the conversation has turned away from him. There would be nothing in the world worse than telling them the real reason he never seems keen on girls.

He thinks back over his night of politely talking to the women who approached him, and finding his excuses to turn away, to refuse, his repeated assurances of “I have a girl back home” or “got to be up early in the morning” keeping him safe. Safe from anyone knowing that there’s another reason he hangs in the corner by the bar, drink in his hand, gaze occasionally drifting across the room to keep tabs on two figures who mean more to him than anything else on earth; more to him than they ever should.

Minho stops walking, and his arms drop away from Newt and Thomas’ shoulders. Before they notice it, they automatically continue for a couple more steps, and then turn to face him.

“You’re seriously both telling me that I dragged you all the way out here on our night off and let down a bunch of beautiful women only to find out that neither of you were even keen on them in the first place?” He demands, sounding genuinely astounded. But Newt and Thomas know him too well. They see the quirk to his brow, the barely contained smile that means he’s just messing with them.

“Yup.” Thomas pops his lips on the ‘p’. “Everything on purpose to ruin your night.”

“Slintheads, the both of you.” Minho throws back his head, cups his hands to his mouth, and yells at the sky. “My two best friends are _crazy! Help me!_ ”

“Minho!” Newt snaps, grabbing his arm without thinking. “We’re in the middle of town.”

“We are not in the _middle_ of town.” Minho points out, face very close. And damn, why did Newt think this was a good idea? “We’re like, one street away from the alleyway leading _out_ of town.”

Newt lets go of him again, sighing, and Minho folds his arms in the most annoyingly smug way.

“For as long as we’re standing by the windows of people trying to sleep, you can shut it.” Newt retorts.

“Okay fine.” Minho pauses, a wicked grin flickering onto his face before he manages to control it again. “Can I scream at the sky when we get out?”

Thomas snorts into laughter at their side and Newt almost groans out loud.

 “You can scream all you want when we get out.” Newt sighs, exasperated, running a hand across his face. This is going to be one long walk back. Especially with Minho in one of his ridiculous playful moods.

“Alright! Thomas, race you to the end of the alley!” Minho cries abruptly, launching himself forward into a sprint before Thomas even has a chance to catch up.

“Hey!” Thomas yells, taking off after him. “Cheater!”

Newt watches their backs vanish round the nearest corner, and with another sigh, and the smallest fond laugh, runs along behind. When he comes into sight, they’re already at the entrance to the alleyway. Before Minho can make the turn, Thomas manages to grab a fistful of his shirt, sending them colliding together as they try to get around the corner. Minho attempts to free himself and Thomas struggles to pull ahead, so Newt has the chance to catch up.

In their scuffle, Thomas manoeuvres to the front. They go along shoving each other with every step until he breaks into a sprint, letting out a loud whoop as he pulls ahead. Newt almost scolds him again, not wanting to disturb anyone, but he remembers that the alleyway is lined by two solid brick walls, and he can see no windows. There’s very little chance that the people living in the cramped little buildings on either side can actually hear them now that they’re off the main streets.

He can see Minho crouch a little as he runs a half second behind Thomas, and watches him push up off the balls of his feet and spring forward and sideways, the impact of his body sending both himself and Thomas smashing into the wall.

“Shank!” Thomas says, panting, as he tries to escape. Minho stays where he is, smiling so hard it looks like his face will break in two, pinning him down.

They’re all very close to the end of the alleyway after the run. The fields that will lead them back to camp spread out beyond, and through the gap between the buildings, the boys are illuminated by the moon.

Newt reaches them, slowing to a stop when he gets about two paces away. He’s not sure if his heart is beating so hard from the run or the sight of Minho pressing Thomas against the wall. If he had any sense left, he would look away. But, for some reason, he can’t.

Thomas gives up on trying to escape, panting hard, eyes locked on Minho’s. For some reason, he’s beaming, a most delighted smile. He looks beautiful. And Newt can tell by the lift of his cheek that Minho is smiling as well.

“I win.” Minho sings.

“We’re not even there yet.” Thomas says, he voice oddly pitched, and he’s still just _staring_. Newt can’t breathe.

“Mm,” Minho hums. “I guess so.”

There’s a very long, drawn out, agonising pause, during which Thomas and Minho just stand there panting and smiling and Newt can’t tear his eyes away.

And then suddenly, Thomas’ gaze flickers over to Newt and his heart kind of stutters with how intense their eye contact is. There’s something far too significant about this moment.

Then, as if in slow motion, Thomas looks back to Minho again. Neither of them have stopped smiling since the moment they hit the wall. The two hands placed on either side of Thomas to keep him trapped where he is shift slightly against the wall. Thomas leans closer.

And then they’re kissing.

Newt feels his breath catch in his throat and he’s almost sure he must have passed out, passed out and started dreaming the best dream he could ever have asked for.

He can’t believe it.

Thomas looks so warm and pliant against Minho’s mouth, letting himself give way to the other boy’s lips as his hands hook in his shirt to keep him close. In response, Minho presses against him, bodies close, with an intensity so deep it makes Newt’s head reel just _watching_.

When they pull back, the soft smack of it hits Newt like a punch to the gut. Thomas looks like he’s coming up for air, blinking, dazed, as he lets his eyes drift over and lock with Newt’s again.

Newt knows his mouth is hanging open, but he can’t for the life of him remember how to close it. His entire face must be a brilliant shade of scarlet by now. Thoughts race madly through his mind. _They’re just drunk. They’re drunk and silly and they can’t possibly mean it the way you wish they did. They can’t possibly_ want _what you want._

After a pause, Minho drops one arm from the wall beside Thomas’ head and half turns toward Newt as well. They both smile.

“Wh-what the hell are you doing?” Newt manages to choke out.

Minho approaches him, Thomas right in his footsteps, and his heart, if possible, beats even faster.

“You okay, Newt?” Thomas asks. Minho just stares at him, not saying a word, head tilted to one side and eyes gleaming.

“How could you- what are you- why?” Newt isn’t forming very successful sentences.

Minho reaches for his hand, though he flinches a little before letting him take it. But the shorter boy clasps it tight in his own, and gives it a squeeze. Newt is still poised on the balls of his feet, tense, like he would run away at any moment.

“I don’t understand.” He manages at last.

“Newt, Thomas and I have been talking.” Minho says. “And we know.”

“Know what?” Newt asks. His voice is barely above a whisper and he feels like he might cry. How could they know? How could they possibly know when he tries so hard to keep it hidden? And what are they doing now? Are they teasing him, making fun of him, ready to crush his heart and-

“And we understand.” Thomas adds. He grabs Newt’s other hand and, in that childish excited way of his, yanks him closer with a little smile.

Before Newt can say another word, Minho is pressing a kiss to his jawline. And Thomas adds another on the other side.

“I don’t understand.” He says again, somewhat stupidly.

“Can I do it first?” Minho asks, looking at Thomas like he’s awaiting permission for something, though Newt takes a moment to work out what it’s for.

“Yeah, of course.” Thomas says, still gently moving his lips across the side of Newt’s neck.

And then Minho kisses him full on the mouth.

He tightens his grip on both other boys, like two anchors holding him in place, barely able to move with the way his mind is overflowing. Minho tilts his head and pushes in and all Newt can focus on is the intensity of everything he’s feeling all at once.

After what feels like forever, Minho breaks off, and Newt can _feel_ the smile against his lips.

“Newt,” he begins, and Newt opens his eyes at last.

“Yeah?”

“Wait, me first.” Thomas protests, never good at waiting patiently for anything.

Minho chuckles and moves out of the way, arm still settled at Newt’s waist. His thumb rubs out a pattern there as Thomas shifts into his empty space. He’s smiling incredibly widely, and he places both hands on either side of Newt’s face to draw him into another kiss.

Where Minho had been intense and focused and very deliberate about his kiss, Thomas is loose and enthusiastic and maybe even a little sloppy. Not in a bad way at all. But in the sense that he just can’t contain his excitement. Newt is amazed that two kisses can feel so different and so perfect all at once.

When Thomas finishes, it’s with three more presses of lips against lips before he actually lets go.

Newt opens his eyes once more, breathing heavily, and notices the other boys are doing the same. His lips part as he tries to speak again, and Thomas kisses him once more, like he just can’t hold himself back.

“So what are- I mean, what- what’s going on?” Newt finally manages, eyes flickering between the other two.

“We love you, Newt.” Thomas says.

Newt can’t help it. He laughs. It’s quiet and choked and shocked, but he undoubtedly lets out a disbelieving laugh. He also feels his eyes well with tears almost instantly. Both boys are smiling softly at him with so much affection on their faces that he feels suddenly naked, exposed.

“Really?” He asks after a moment, vulnerability filling his voice.

“Really.” Minho confirms. His hand, still placed on Newt’s waist, gives a gentle squeeze. “We love you.”

“But you both like women.”

Minho laughs, and Thomas gives him a smitten look.

“Not exclusively.” He says, and Minho pushes up closer so his side, kisses just beneath his jaw, and agrees.

“Definitely not exclusively.” He adds, and Newt finds it hard to pay attention to his words when he’s still reeling from his casual affection. “Girls are cute, don’t get me wrong, and I’ve had fun with them before. But it just so happens that you and Thomas are the first people I’ve ever fallen in love with.”

“And I’m pretty much the same.” Thomas says, making the cute face he makes while explaining something. “You guys both know I dated Theresa in the past, and I loved her, I really did. But we both moved on and, well, you and Minho mean so much to me and I- it just felt so natural to fall in love with you- with both of you.”

“You don’t think it’s weird?” Newt asks tentatively. “I’ve been trying so hard not to think about it or- or let myself-”

“We know.” Minho says. “We kind of noticed.”

“When?” Newt says, looking scared. He had done so much to try and hide his feelings, to push them as far down as he could manage.

“Only a couple of weeks ago.” Thomas explains. “You’ve been oddly quiet for a while, of course, but you've been good at hiding the reason. Until other day, after our morning exercise, when you were less subtle with your staring. I caught you looking at Minho and he caught you looking at me and – I’m sure you remember – you ended up running out of the changing room pretty fast.”

“Blushing all over.” Minho adds, but he’s biting his lip and staring at Newt’s mouth and Newt feels more flattered under his attention than embarrassed by the fact that his red face apparently gives him away too easily.

“The two of us ended up talking about it after.” Thomas continues. “We were worried about you. And then Minho asked if I’d noticed anything and we ended up talking about all of it. And  _then_  Minho told me about-”

It’s Thomas’ turn to look embarrassed, breaking off in the middle of the sentence. Minho chuckles.

“I told him I’d had sex with a few men before." He explains, and Newt's brain short-circuits. "There are certain bars where those things are accepted.” 

“Yeah.” Thomas coughs a little before continuing his story, mind still clearly taken up with images of Minho _doing things_. “And, maybe it was naïve of me, but I’d never even considered anything like that before. But it suddenly made sense.”

“And we finally knew you liked us. And we liked you.” Minho adds.

“So much.”

“So we figured we had to talk about it. We couldn’t keep going with you pining and none of us discussing anything.”

“Sorry.” Newt says, finally interjecting. “I never wanted to make it weird.”

“Oh, you didn’t!” The other boys say, almost at the exact same time. Newt laughs again, but this time it’s much looser. He feels calmer.

“You didn’t make it weird.” Thomas begins to elaborate. “We’re actually really glad we noticed. Because it was the thing to get us talking about all of this. If it wasn’t for you we might never have realised how much we _need_ each other.”

“I mean, I always knew I was attracted to both of you.” Minho says. “And we’ve been through so much together it’s clear we’re closer than most people ever are. But I never thought I would act on any of it. It never occurred to me that we might all like each other; might all want the same thing.”

“And you know me-” Thomas begins.

“Oblivious as all hell when it comes to your feelings.” Minho interrupts with a wicked grin.

“Shh,” Thomas hushes him, and then kisses him for good measure. And Newt isn’t sure he’ll ever be used to seeing that. “I was just saying that I’d never even thought about it at all before. But when I noticed you looking at Minho it was like – I don’t know – like waking up. I considered things I’d never thought about and then I couldn’t stop.”

“And so that’s when we planned to talk to you about this.” Minho finishes. “Although admittedly, we didn’t intend to do it tonight.”

“No?” Newt asks.

“No, we were going to come up with a good plan. Something really romantic.” Thomas says, and then giggles.

“But I guess we’re a little drunk.” Minho adds, and laughs even louder.

“I don’t mind.” Newt promises them, maybe too eagerly. He looks between them again, eyes drifting to parted lips. “C-can I-”

"Of course." Thomas answers, already leaning in.

And Newt never manages to finish his sentence, but he grabs Thomas’ face and kisses him, and then pulls Minho in for one of his own. It feels surreal, but he doesn’t think he’s ever been so happy.

“I love you.” He says at last, pulling back enough to see their two smiling faces. “I love you so much.”

"We love you too."


End file.
